


one step closer

by elizaham8957



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Fluff, Dany and Jon are dancers, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Jon Snow's ass appreciation fic, Jonerys Advent 2020, The Nutcracker, ballerina au, that's basically why I wrote this guys. Jon's ass in tights.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:42:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28251849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaham8957/pseuds/elizaham8957
Summary: There is one thing that has her feeling jittery about opening night, but it’s far from the choreography.“What is it?” Missandei asks, and Dany looks up, wide eyed. But her best friend’s gaze is determined, and she knows that she can’t pass this off as nothing. The other woman knows her too well.“Nothing,” Dany tries anyway, but Missandei just scoffs.“It’s not nothing,” she says. “Let me guess.” She arches a brow. “Your partner?”Dany’s shoulders sag, because yes, that is completely it.“I still just… I don’t know,” she admits. “I don’t know what to make of him.”She’s been trying to figure him out since he arrived here at the beginning of the season, but even after more than three months of dancing with him, Daenerys is still utterly and hopelessly confused by Jon Snow.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 79
Kudos: 396





	one step closer

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY HOLIDAYS EVERYONE!! I come bearing 11.5k of ridiculousness and appreciation for Jon Snow's ass as my contribution to the Jonerys Advent event! 
> 
> Seeing The Nutcracker every year is my favorite holiday tradition and while I was really sad I didn't get to see it in person this year, writing this fic helped a little bit :) I couldn't pass up the ridiculousness of Jon and Dany both being dancers in The Nutcracker so here we are! Really, I gotta give this one to the incels and the trolls-- since they seem to think calling me a "tumblrina" is insulting I wrote them a present where not only Dany but JON is a ballerina!! I hope you enjoy guys!! 😘
> 
> Anyways this is dumb and fluffy but was kind of a blast to write, so I hope all you normal people enjoy it too!! Huge shoutout to Jenn for organizing this amazing event; I can't wait to curl up next to the tree later this week and read all the other amazing fics people have written for this. Go check em all out! 
> 
> In my completely biased opinion Boston Ballet's version of The Nutcracker is the best one by far, so in my head all their costumes/ sets/ choreography/ staging is identical to Boston Ballet's. Also sorry not sorry for the two moodboards; there were too many great pictures to narrow it down. 
> 
> Happy holidays everyone-- I hope you're staying safe and healthy, and that you like my Christmas contribution!

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/50749342591/in/dateposted-public/) [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/50749342566/in/dateposted-public/)

When Dany was a little girl,  _ The Nutcracker _ had been her very favorite ballet. 

She can still remember her mum taking her to the theater for the very first time when she was only four or five years old. It had been one of those pivotal, life changing moments for her, where she’d watched the ballerinas with rapt attention for the entire two hours and had felt so enchanted that she declared  _ she  _ wanted to be a ballerina. 

Most children who see  _ The Nutcracker _ say the same thing, but even as a child, Daenerys was determined beyond reason. Her mother had signed her up for ballet lessons that year, and she had worked and worked and worked until five years later, she was no longer watching  _ The Nutcracker,  _ she was  _ in  _ it. 

When she was offered a position as a corps dancer with King’s Landing Ballet at seventeen years old, it felt like all her dreams had come true. And when she danced all her different roles in  _ The Nutcracker  _ that season, it had been like she was a child again, staring out at the stage in wonder. 

It’s been years since those days— endless hours of work and blood and sweat, busted toes and broken bones and enough tears to fill an ocean have passed since then. She’s a principal dancer now, and she’s come to learn the truth that all ballerinas try to keep from the enchanted audience members: _ The Nutcracker _ is fucking  _ exhausting.  _

She loves it still, of course. It’s the embodiment of Christmas for her, the reason she began dancing. But it’s also a forty-four show run over the span of a month, and regardless of how many seasons she’s made it through now, it never stops feeling like an endless marathon. 

“There you are, Dany,” Missandei says, sitting down on the floor next to Dany and rifling through her bag for her pointe shoes. She’d found a quiet spot in the wings to stretch after company class and before tech rehearsals begin, but the intrusion of her best friend is a welcome one. Generally she needs her peace and quiet to make it through the long days of  _ Nutcracker  _ tech, but Missandei’s presence is always calming and comforting. 

“Sorry,” she says, scooting over so her friend has more room. “Just needed an escape for a moment.” 

“I know how you feel,” Missandei says, nodding. “It’s that time of year.” She smiles, tying off her ribbons and tucking them in deftly. 

They’ve been working on  _ Nutcracker  _ since rehearsals for the season began in August, but with every day that brings them closer to opening night, Dany can feel the tension and nerves rise in the company. Now, mere days before the show will open, she feels fairly confident in all the parts she will dance— the Snow Queen, the Arabian pas de deux, Dew Drop, and of course the coveted Sugar Plum Fairy— and it helps that she’s danced them all before. But the flurry of anticipation for the beginning of the show— it makes tensions run high in everyone, regardless of how prepared they are. Moments of calm and clarity are how Dany makes it through December every year.

“Do you remember when we were just baby corps dancers, doing this for the first time?” Missandei asks, pulling her from her musings. 

Dany laughs. She and Missandei became fast friends in the pre-professional program at King’s Landing Ballet that they’d both been in when they were teenagers. They were invited to join the company together the same year, in what seems like a different lifetime. “Of course,” Dany agrees. “I almost vomited in the wings on opening night. Remember that?” 

“How could I not? I was the one pulling your skirt back and out of the way,” Missandei says, both of them dissolving into giggles. “We’ve come so far, truly.” 

“I’m glad those days are behind us,” Dany agrees. “Both because of the nerves, and because dancing all three corps waltzes in one performance was  _ hell.”  _

“I don’t miss having to do all forty four shows per season, that’s for sure,” Missandei agrees. Now that they’re both principal dancers, they have more time off than the corps dancers, who will perform two or three different roles per show. Dany remembers those days. Keeping all the choreography and staging straight in her head was like waging war. 

“Are you nervous at all for Friday?” Missandei asks, and Dany shrugs. 

“Not moreso than usual opening night nerves,” she says. “I’m dancing the Snow Pas. I’ll be done before Act II even begins.” 

“Well, you’ll get it over with, at least,” Missandei says with a shrug. “I’m dancing Dew Drop. The Waltz of the Flowers is practically the last thing to happen, so I’ll be sitting around waiting all night.” Dany nods, absentmindedly bending the shank of her pointe shoe back and forth, both of them still in front of her and not on her feet. She’d just sewed ribbons and darned the toes on this pair a few days ago, and they’re not entirely broken in yet. 

There is one thing that has her feeling jittery about opening night, but it’s far from the choreography. 

“What is it?” Missandei asks, and Dany looks up, wide eyed. But her best friend’s gaze is determined, and she knows that she can’t pass this off as nothing. The other woman knows her too well. 

“Nothing,” Dany tries anyway, but Missandei just scoffs. 

“It’s not nothing,” she says. “Let me guess.” She arches a brow. “Your partner?” 

Dany’s shoulders sag, because  _ yes,  _ that is completely it. 

“I still just… I don’t know,” she admits. “I don’t know what to make of him.” 

She’s been trying to figure him out since he arrived here at the beginning of the season, but even after more than three months of dancing with him, Daenerys is still utterly and hopelessly confused by Jon Snow. 

“He’s a good dancer, at least,” Missandei says. “Do you not get along?” 

“It’s not that,” Dany says, brow furrowed. “We don’t  _ talk,  _ really. He doesn’t seem to want anything to do with me.” 

Missandei rolls her eyes, massaging her calf as she does so. “He does seem rather… aloof.” 

“Northerners,” she grumbles. She’s long heard the stereotype about the lot of them, that they’re gruff and unfriendly, as harsh as their winters, but every northerner she’s ever met before has proved that wrong. Alys transferred from Winterfell Ballet, same as Jon, at the beginning of the season, and she’s beyond lovely. Apparently Jon is the lone one who meets expectations. 

“I mean, I suppose it’s better than actively  _ disliking  _ each other,” Missandei muses. Dany shrugs. 

“Still. We’re partners for every single pas de deux in _ Nutcracker.  _ I dance with him almost every night for the next  _ month,  _ and he won’t even talk to me.” Her eyes dart out to the stage, barely visible through the gap in the curtains from where she’s hiding in the wings. But right there, as if intended by fate, she can see her partner, still stretching at the barre. 

At least he’s nice to look at, her eyes tracking the toned muscle of his thighs, the turn of his calves. And that arse— gods. She doesn’t know how whoever is behind him during company class is able to focus in the slightest. 

“I am going to figure out what his deal is,” Dany declares, nodding her head with sheer determination. “I am going to  _ make  _ him be my friend.” 

Missandei laughs, shooting her a sideways glance. “You know that’s not really how it works, right?” 

“Inconsequential,” Dany says. “I’m not spending the next five weeks dancing with someone who barely acknowledges me.” 

“Well, don’t annoy him  _ too  _ much,” Missandei warns.  _ “Nutcracker  _ will be hell if you’re fighting with your duet partner.” 

“That’s true,” Dany says, eyes narrowing as she watches Renly walk up to Jon, the two of them chatting amiably. “See! He has no problem talking to  _ Renly.”  _

Missandei’s brow furrows in confusion, but Dany points to her crack in the curtain in explanation. Her best friend crawls over so that she’s practically on top of Dany, following where her finger is pointing. Suddenly Dany feels like they’re fourteen again, little King’s Landing Ballet students in their party girl dresses, peeking through the curtains to catch a glimpse of the principal dancers warming up. 

How far they’ve come, truly. Ten years later, and they’re still ogling the other company members together. 

“Hm,” Missandei says, sitting back on her haunches. “Maybe it’s just you he hates.” 

Dany’s mouth falls open in outrage.  _ “Dei!”  _ she squawks, swatting at her friend. Missandei laughs, her head tipping back. 

“I’m kidding,” Missandei says. “Maybe he just has a stick up his arse.” She leans closer again, peering out of the wings. “Though it is a  _ nice  _ arse.” 

“Mmm,” Dany hums, momentarily distracted from the problem at hand, staring at his lower half again. “Unfairly so.” 

Their musings are cut short by the flurry of activity in preparation for their run throughs, Missandei and Dany ousted from the wings so that the tech crew can begin moving set pieces on stage. They’re just marking everything today with the sets in place, no costumes, but Dany still goes and pulls on her practice tutu after she laces up her pointe shoes. The one she’ll wear for the show next week is much fancier, the edges dipped in silver and adorned with glittering rhinestones, the tulle cut to mimic the shape of a snowflake. She had been a bit disappointed to learn she was dancing the Snow Queen opening night as opposed to the coveted Sugar Plum Fairy, the de facto star of the ballet (aside from Clara, of course, and her days of playing  _ her  _ ended when she hit fifteen years of age) but Dany’s adjusted to the idea, is excited for the Snow pas de deux now. She’ll dance Sugar Plum later on in the run, of course, and she does love the music for the snow scene. And she’d been happy for Margaery, even if she had gloated a bit when they found out casting for opening night and she’d realized she was dancing the lead role. It’s such a strange dynamic between them all, but she knows her friend would have felt the same if it was the other way around. 

Dany’s come a long way from those early days when every casting announcement felt like it might send her over the edge, her desperation to prove herself and get recognition overwhelming. There’s still hierarchy amongst the principal dancers, of course— she knows for a fact their artistic director prefers Margaery to her— but ever since she got promoted to the highest position in the company, Dany’s tried to let go of some of the competitiveness that’s been instilled in her ever since she entered the world of professional ballet. It’s such a difficult thing, because her company members are her  _ friends,  _ but they’re also her competition, other people she’s fighting against in a race to the top. Ballet is a backbreaking, cruel, thankless world, and she remembers those dark days when she’d get beaten out for promotions and solos, when it seemed like everything was against her. It’s taken years and years to unlearn that, to recognize what she’s  _ really  _ doing this for is her passion for dancing. 

They start off with the party scenes, teachers herding all the small children onstage so they can practice all their staging. Missandei isn’t even in the first act for their opening night casting, so the two of them stretch in the wings, marking choreography to make sure they’re ready for when their parts come. “Remember when that was us?” Missandei says fondly, leaning over Dany’s shoulder and gazing out at the little children on stage, acting wide eyed with wonder over the ballerina doll and dancing bear. 

“I do,” Dany says, smiling to herself. She hadn’t had to fake that wonder, when she was small. Being on stage with  _ real  _ ballerinas, dancing in a  _ real  _ production of  _ The Nutcracker— _ it had been like all her dreams had come true. 

Dany had loved dancing the ballerina doll when she was still a corps dancer. Watching all the children watching  _ her  _ like she used to _ —  _ it was the best feeling in the world. 

“Alright, let’s run the snow scene,” their director calls, the wings suddenly flooded with small children evacuating after the battle scene. She can see, on the other side of the stage, Jon emerging from the wings. 

“Here goes nothing,” Dany says, arching her eyebrows at Missandei. Her best friend laughs, following her gaze. 

“Merde!” she wishes her, Dany rolling her eyes at her friend’s wishes of luck as she steps on stage. The young girl playing Clara is talking with Renly and the director, probably about the segue from the battle scene, as the corps and second soloists in the Waltz of the Snowflakes congregate in their respective wings. That leaves Jon no one to talk to but her, and Dany’s eyes narrow in determination. She is going to  _ make  _ this man her friend, godsdammit. 

“Hey,” she says, giving him an amiable smile. Jon’s eyes snap to her, momentarily going wide. 

Gods above,  _ those  _ are unfairly pretty too. Dark grey, almost black, framed by thick, dark lashes— she almost has to look away, so drawn in. 

“Er, hey,” Jon says, his standard greeting for her. In the few months they’ve been intermittently working on rehearsals, he’s hardly said more to her than that. 

He seems to be unwilling to offer up anything more than that terse greeting, so she presses on. “You ready for all of this?” she says, gesturing to the backdrops being lowered, set pieces being brought on. He shrugs, meeting her eyes again before they flit away, lingering on the silver sleigh being wheeled on stage. 

“I suppose,” he says. “Ready as anyone ever is for Nutcracker.” 

“Fair,” Dany says, smiling a bit. “You did a similar length run with Winterfell Ballet, right?” 

Jon nods. “Aye. Forty shows, right about.” She stays silent, giving him room to continue, but he doesn’t, much to her aggravation. She is going to have to singlehandedly drag him kicking and screaming into friendship, isn’t she? 

“Is it hard, having to relearn it all a different way?” Dany asks. She can’t even imagine it— she’s been dancing King’s Landing Ballet’s version for most of her professional career now. Jon shrugs, meeting her eyes again briefly. 

“A bit,” he says. And then again— silence. 

Dany tries not to sigh. “Well, if you ever want to run things a few more times, I don’t mind at all,” she offers. “I could always use the extra practice as well.” 

He frowns a bit, eyes darkening. “Er, thanks, he says, crossing his arms. “I’m alright, though.” 

_ Well,  _ Dany thinks, a bit affronted. She’d just been trying to be  _ helpful.  _ Gods know if she was new to a company, had to  _ completely relearn  _ a ballet she’d been dancing all her life, she would at least be  _ appreciative  _ of an offer to help. Jon’s looking at her like she just offered to run over his dog. 

So much for her plan, she decides, turning back towards where she knows Missandei is lurking in the wings. She wonders if her best friend can see the defeat and annoyance clearly written on her face. 

Maybe it was a terrible idea to try to become friends with him. She doesn’t want him to be pissed off at her and let her fall during their pas de deux.  _ Oh, gods, she hadn’t even thought of that.  _ He wouldn’t really drop her, right? Why did she have to go and try to change his brooding, sullen ways? If he drops her on purpose she’s going to fucking  _ kill him.  _

“Test the snow for me quick, yeah?” one of their tech directors calls from offstage. Dany looks up as the “snow” that will flutter down for most of the scene begins to fall gently. It’s a mix of paper and glitter, and it is  _ hell  _ to dance on, but it looks beautiful from the audience. She can’t even count how many times she’s nearly wiped out from it. 

Jon glances up as well, the flakes getting caught in his dark curls, a stark contrast. Does every part of him really have to be  _ so  _ attractive? 

“That’s good, stop!” the director calls. “You lot ready to run the scene?” 

They take their marks for the beginning of the scene, Jon climbing into the silver sleigh before offering her a hand, helping her in as well. His palm is warm against hers, his fingers wrapping around her hand. The sleigh starts to move as the pianist begins to play, Dany forcing aside all thoughts of her botched attempts to talk to Jon, focusing on the choreography ahead. 

He meets her eyes as they step out of the sleigh and back onto the stage, and for just a moment, Dany can see behind his broody, cold exterior, the emotion in his gaze clear. The breath leaves her lungs in a  _ whoosh,  _ but she takes his hand when he offers it, stepping into his arms and beginning to dance. 

The snow pas de deux has always been some of her favorite music in the show— she knows it’ll sound even more beautiful with the full orchestra once they start doing dress rehearsals, but even on just the piano it captivates her. She allows the music to fill her up, heart racing as they step through the choreography. Jon’s hands are warm on her waist, holding her tightly to keep her from falling out of her pirouettes, supporting her as she extends into an arabesque. She shouldn’t have worried about him dropping her, clearly— through the whole thing he’s always there, right next to her, arms around her to keep her from falling. 

They move through the jump sequence and the turns, Dany watching him out of the corner of her eye to make sure they’re in sync. At least they  _ dance  _ well together, she muses, as he returns to her side, grabbing her waist and lifting her as she jumps into the air, holding her high and walking her across the stage as the music crescendos. It’s annoying that he won’t make any real attempt to speak with her, she supposes, but it would be so much worse if it was difficult for them to dance together. 

She can feel the heat of his body against hers, the pounding of his heart as he holds her waist tightly for their final pose, Dany’s lungs burning as well. She smiles through it, though, trying to control her breathing so her chest doesn’t heave. They have to make it look easy, after all. 

The music changes to the high, lilting notes of the Waltz of the Snowflakes, Dany lowering her leg from arabesque as the two of them step offstage into the wings.  _ Then  _ she allows herself to breathe deeply, wiping the sweat from her brow. 

Jon looks disgruntled, raking a hand through his hair to shake out the fake snow that had begun raining down on them halfway through. It’ll continue on for the rest of the scene, just picking up speed and coming down heavier as the music grows more intense. She tries to bite back a smile at how adorably grumpy he seems, focusing on that instead of how soft his inky curls look. 

“I fuckin’ hate that stuff,” he grumbles, more to himself than to her, she thinks. Still, she takes the opportunity— he may have brushed her off earlier, but she’s not giving up so easily. 

“It doesn’t remind you of home?” she asks, and his eyes dart up to her again, his plush lips falling open just a bit. “You’re from the North, aren’t you?” 

“Aye,” he says, nodding. “It that obvious?” 

“Well, aside from the fact you transferred from Winterfell Ballet, your accent is a dead giveaway,” she teases. He shrugs, and she  _ thinks  _ she sees a hint of a smile tug at his lips.  _ Victory.  _

“I’ve never actually seen real snow,” she tells him. His brows raise, but he remains silent. “I’ve sort of always wanted to. This is the closest I ever get.” 

“Believe me, it’s highly overrated,” he says. “Generally it’s a lot colder than this, as well.” 

Dany laughs. “I suppose that is a good point.”

They fall silent, instead listening for their music to reenter and dance their parts of the Waltz of the Snowflakes. The rest of the scene goes quickly, Dany so focused on  _ not  _ wiping out on the fake snow as she piqués through it that she has time to think of little else. She can feel the damn flakes in her leotard, poking at her skin, and knows when she gets home to shower later it’ll be everywhere. It’s like sand at the beach. That’s the only part of the Snow Pas she truly  _ hates.  _

“Alright, that looked good,” their director calls. “Snowflakes, come back, I want to see that formation at the end before the music shifts—” 

Dany turns to tell Jon he did a good job, but he’s already gone, disappeared back off into the wings. 

She crosses her arms, trying not to let it get to her. He probably just wanted water and a break— really, she can’t blame him there. She leaves the stage as well as the snowflakes continue on, heading right for Missandei and their joint pile of stuff. 

“That was great,” Missandei tells her as she hands over Dany’s water bottle, Dany dropping to the floor next to her. “I will say, even if Jon won’t talk to you, you dance together beautifully.” 

“Mm,” Dany hums, eyes narrowing. She catches a glimpse of dark curls out of the corner of her eye, turning to see if it’s him, but the figure has already disappeared, back out towards the hall. 

“Any progress on the  _ forcing-him-to-be-your-friend  _ front?” Missandei teases. She pouts at the other woman, kicking at her playfully, the box of her pointe shoe catching her calf. 

“We’re getting there,” Dany grumbles, ignoring the way Missandei laughs. 

She’s determined beyond reason, that’s always been true. She is going to figure out what Jon Snow’s problem is if it’s the last thing she does. 

***

The rest of tech carries on mostly the same— they run through all the different casting, finalizing costume fittings and scenery, tweaking blocking and perfecting choreography. She and Jon dance the Grand Pas de Deux at the end as well as the Arabian, and then they’re into dress rehearsals, donning their final costumes and practicing with the orchestra and lights and everything. The show hasn’t even opened yet and Dany feels exhausted at the prospect of it all. 

But then she puts on the silvery-white Snow Queen tutu, and looking at herself in the mirror, she feels like a little girl again, giddy with excitement. 

Her mission to make Jon like her is  _ equally  _ exhausting, her efforts proving to be almost fruitless. No matter what she does, how friendly she is with him, he still appears to want nothing to do with her. By their last dress rehearsal she’s practically given up, beyond frustrated with his cold, detached demeanor. 

She would brush it off, think maybe that’s just the way he is— broody and silent and reserved. But then she’ll see him chatting with Alys, or shaking his head and smiling at whatever wisecrack joke Renly just made to impress Loras, or ask Margaery something, and she’ll see red again. Apparently it’s not an issue he has— it’s an issue he has  _ with her.  _

She vents to Missandei about it during their usual Thanksgiving get together. Since they have dress rehearsals Wednesday and the show opens the Friday after, going home to see family is never really an option. It’s become their own tradition to get a little turkey and make a few of their favorite sides together, sipping wine and spending the afternoon trying  _ not  _ to think of the impending marathon of a show coming up. 

“I don’t know what I did wrong!” Dany says, taking the sweet potato casserole out of the oven. It smells heavenly, with its crust of brown sugar and pecans on top. “But clearly he seems to only have an issue with  _ me  _ personally.” 

“Dany, don’t read into it that much,” Missandei says. She takes a long sip of her wine, pausing in carving up the turkey. “You’re going to drive yourself crazy, and  _ Nutcracker  _ will be even more exhausting than usual.” 

“I just don’t understand,” she laments. “Why does he have a problem with me? I’m delightful!” 

Missandei bursts out laughing at that. “Yes, you are,” she assures her. “But you can also be a bit intimidating, you know.” 

“Please,” Dany says, rolling her eyes. “I’ve been nothing but friendly. There is absolutely no reason for him to hate me.” 

“I know,” Missandei says, ever the voice of reason. “Still. Maybe cool it on this whole ‘find out what his problem is’ until  _ after Nutcracker. _ As long as you’re dancing together well— I don’t see the point in risking that by poking at him more.” 

“Why do you always have to be right?” she grumbles, taking a sip of her own wine, but Missandei’s answering smile is warm enough to soften the blow. 

It’s a smart plan, she thinks, trying not to be  _ too  _ grumpy over it during company class the next morning. She moves through rond de jambe perfectly in sync with the music, absentmindedly watching Myrcella in front of her, reminding herself of why Missandei’s right. Jon is her partner for nearly every part she’s dancing in this show— if she goes and pisses him off, makes him even  _ more  _ mad at her, the run will be unbearable. That doesn’t make her any less aggravated that she doesn’t know why he doesn’t like her in the first place, but maybe she can pry it out of him after they’re down forty four shows. 

They move the barres into the wings to make room for adagio, the whole company falling into rows across the stage as they follow the ballet master through the combination. Dany finds a spot next to Missandei, offering her friend a smile as they take fifth position. 

She looks forward again, heart jumping when she realizes Jon is  _ right  _ in front of her. 

She tries not to stare. Truly, she does. She tries to focus on her own posture, her own positions, her own dancing. But her eyes keep flitting to the long, graceful lines of his arms, following them to the bunches of muscles at his shoulders. His t-shirt and leggings leave little to the imagination, every toned plane of his body on display. He lifts one leg into arabesque and she can’t take her eyes off his thick, muscular thighs, the way they flex as he lowers his leg back down, stepping through to fourth to set up for a pirouette. 

Dany almost falls out of her double turn because her breath has been stolen by his glorious,  _ glorious  _ arse. 

How can a person even have an arse so perfect? It’s like he was sculpted by the gods, carved from pure marble and just dropped into the middle of their class. He lands perfectly back in fourth  _ (unlike her)  _ and his buttocks flex, making her heart speed up, blood begin to run hot. 

_ What the fuck are you doing?!  _ her brain snaps at her, shaking her from her stupor. Dany’s eyes snap back to the ballet master, focusing on the combination.  _ Développé, rond de jambe en l’air, arabesque into passé, then plié…  _ that’s all that matters. She cannot go getting distracted from the task at hand by Jon’s gorgeous body. 

Even if it is  _ very  _ distraction worthy. 

It would be so much easier to be pissed at him if he wasn’t so bloody handsome, she thinks. 

They finish the adagio combination, and Missandei shoots Dany a look, arching an eyebrow.  _ You okay?  _ she mouths, but Dany shakes her head, waving her off. 

She’s totally fine. Just beyond distracted by her dance partner’s incredible body. 

Company class ends and they’re dismissed for a few hours, reminded again of what time call is and when they’ll need to be back at the theater. Dany, Missandei, Margaery, and a couple of the other girls go and get lunch together at a café down the street after they finish with a quick round of physical therapy— it’s become an opening night tradition for them the past few years. They chat and laugh over sandwiches and coffee, enjoying one last moment of freedom before  _ Nutcracker  _ takes over their lives completely. 

“We’re still having the party tonight, right?” Myrcella asks, polishing off her lunch. “Where is it again?” 

“Our place,” Missandei says with a grin, nudging Dany. It’s a terrible idea to have a party to celebrate opening night, especially since the next day is Saturday and consequently they’ll dance two shows, but it’s a long standing tradition that no one wants to break. “We’ve got food and drinks. Everyone can come over after the show’s done.” 

“I can’t wait,” Margaery says, grinning. “Just the thought of it will get me through my solo tonight.” 

“Oh my gods, Margaery!” Tyene says, eyes wide in false wonder. “Are you dancing Sugar Plum tonight? I had no idea!” They all laugh, Margaery rolling her eyes goodnaturedly.

The group of them head back to the theater a little earlier than strictly necessary to get dressed and do their makeup and hair. Dany twists her silver curls up into a perfect French twist, securing her sparkling crown with bobby pins after hosing it all down with hairspray. Missandei next to her is putting in the glittering Dew Drop earrings, her own tiara already pinned to her head. 

Makeup perfect and hair finished, she bids Missandei and the rest of the girls they share a dressing room with goodbye, heading for wardrobe to fetch her costume. Her sparkling tutu is hanging sideways on the rack, like a snowflake caught midair. Her heart thumps just looking at it, anticipation filling her belly. Putting on her costume on opening night— no matter how many times she’s done it now, it always brings her back to that moment when she was a child, captivated by the beauty and wonder of this ballet. It always feels like  _ Christmas  _ to her. 

One of the costume techs helps her into the tutu and then the bodice, closing it up the back. Dany looks at herself in the mirror— the sparkling rhinestones set into the embroidery, the glittering edges of the tutu, the tufted tulle on the straps that look like snowflakes— it sends a shiver through her, a smile pulling at her perfectly painted lips. 

She could go back and find Missandei before call, but instead she retreats deeper into the opera house, still closed to the audience. There’s a lounge on the bottom floor by the bar with walls of mirrors and beautifully painted scenes on the ceiling, gilded gold trim running through it all. In Dany’s opinion, it’s the prettiest place in the whole theater, and before shows, it’s always abandoned. So she sits down in the middle of it, pulling her sweatshirt on over her tutu and leg warmers on over her tights, and zones out as she stretches. 

It’s a pre-show ritual she’s been doing for years and years now, and still she doesn’t think anyone’s found her out yet. It’s calming and grounding, the unbroken silence as she works through an abridged barre routine allowing herself to recalibrate, prepare for the show ahead of her. Dany focuses on the feel of her body, the way her muscles pull and flex, the shapes and lines she’s making with her limbs. She lets the feeling consume her, trying to register every feel, catalogue every movement in a routine that is so second nature to her. It helps her connect to herself, hone in on her steps and movements so that when she’s on stage, she just feels the dance completely. 

She’s halfway through fondu when she realizes, out of the corner of her eye, someone is standing in the doorway. 

Her heart stutters, the bubble surrounding her popping as she turns towards the intruder. But then she sees it’s Jon, and her heart begins to speed up for a separate reason. 

“Sorry,” he says, grimacing apologetically. “I… didn’t realize anyone would be down here.” 

“It’s fine,” she says, lowering her leg. “Generally there isn’t. That’s why I always hide here before shows.” 

He smiles a bit, just the corner of his mouth ticking up, and it sends a rush of warmth through her. His eyes look…  _ different  _ than they usually do. Not as closed off or stoic. There’s a light in the dark grey as he regards her. 

“I guess I’ll go find my own hiding spot,” he jokes. “You have any suggestions?” 

Dany ponders. “The donor’s lounge on the top floor might be open. I know sometimes the boys warm up there, though.” She looks around, and before she can reason with herself, before she can  _ think,  _ really, the words are tumbling out of her mouth— “You can stay here, if you’d like.” 

His brow furrows, those gorgeous full lips taunting her. “You don’t mind?” he asks, and she shakes her head. Too late to take it back now, anyways. “Alright,” he says, a bit hesitant, but he takes a spot on the other side of the little room, beginning to work through his own warmup. 

Dany returns to hers, trying not to watch his reflection in the mirror as she stretches. 

Warmup complete, Dany migrates back to the floor, moving through her splits before tugging on her pointe shoes and lacing them up. Jon comes to join her as she’s retaping the toes on her left foot— she still has an annoying blister on her pinky from the new pair of shoes she’d broken in last week. 

“Are you feeling ready for tonight?” she asks, turning to look at him. It’s not that the silence is uncomfortable, but for some reason, she feels compelled to fill it. 

Jon shrugs, his thumbs massaging his calf muscle— she tries not to watch, focusing on his face instead. Not that  _ that’s  _ much less distracting. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he says. “As long as I don’t start doin’ the choreography from Winterfell’s version, I should be fine.” 

“Oh, gods, yeah, don’t let that happen,” Dany says, laughing. “I won’t know what to do. I’ll just stand there like an idiot.” 

Jon huffs in laughter, looking at her with a sincerity in his eyes that knocks the wind out of her lungs. “I doubt that,” he says. “You’re an incredible dancer. You’d figure somethin’ out.” 

She can feel her cheeks flush at his praise— that’s the nicest thing he’s ever said to her, she realizes. Jon gives her another one of those little smiles of his, and Dany’s heart flutters in her chest, like it’s sprouted wings all of a sudden, beating against her ribcage. 

Maybe getting Jon to like her isn’t a completely hopeless case. 

Her phone alarm goes off then, signalling it’s time for them to go backstage and get ready, as the house will be opening. Dany taps the screen to silence it, the quiet that follows stifling as they sit there. 

“We best get back there,” Jon finally says, voice quiet. Dany nods, not sure what’s suddenly come over her, this heavy, exhilarating energy that’s filled the room. 

Jon stands before offering her a hand, and her heart races at the feel of his palm against hers as he tugs her up. 

Backstage is a flurry of activity, dancers warming up in the wings, all the kids being herded into places, sets being finalized and moved into position. She finds Missandei easily, simply because her tutu is the sparkliest in the entire show— even in the dim backstage lighting and with her sweatshirt half on, the thousands of rhinestones covering the entire thing twinkle. 

“Hey,” Missandei says, her smile wide. “You ready?” 

Dany grins back. “Let the madness begin.” 

They watch from the outskirts as the ballet begins, the party scene unfolding before them, the audience  _ oohing  _ and  _ aahing  _ at the spectacle. The dancing bear, always a crowd favorite, earns a tidal wave of cheers and laughter as he finishes his dance and is herded off stage. “Great job,” Dany whispers to him as he pulls off the head, revealing Trystane, one of their second soloists, below. 

Soon the battle is raging, Dany rolling through her toes as they draw closer and closer to the snow scene. She can see crew members herding the little kids dressed as reindeer into position in front of the sleigh that she and Jon will arrive in, landing a few practice pirouettes before she’s summoned as well. 

She can see him doing the same not far off, though he’s already shed his outer layers, is in just his costume. The embroidery on his white jacket matches that on her tutu, the rhinestones sewn into the snowflakes glittering dully in dim backstage lights. 

He lands a flawless turn combo she knows is part of his choreography, and once again, her eyes are drawn south, to just how good his arse looks in those tights. Sometimes Dany thinks they should just make male dancers wear pants, but Jon— covering all of that up would be a sin. 

It takes her a second to realize she’s zoned out, staring at the mesmerizing curve of his muscles as the music changes again. Dany shakes herself, trying to snap back to her senses. She shouldn’t be ogling his arse moments before she has to go onstage and  _ dance  _ with him. This is a children’s ballet, for the sake of the gods. 

“Dany, Jon, we’re ready for you,” a stagehand says, beckoning to them, and Dany snaps herself out of it, handing off her sweatshirt to Missandei and making sure the straps of her costume are in place before she walks over, taking her place on the bench in the sleigh. Jon climbs in a moment later, standing across from her. 

“Ready for this?” she asks him again, grinning widely. The anticipation has her now, the excitement to get out there and dance taking control. 

“Aye,” Jon says, returning her grin, and she can’t tell if the fluttering of her heart is from her excitement to dance or from how handsome he looks. 

She hears the music shift, watches on stage as the Nutcracker transforms to a prince before Clara’s eyes, the little girl amazed at the feat. Fondness swells in her heart, watching that little dancer out there, just as it always does. Clara is undeniably the reason that she is where she is today, that she’d realized ballet is what she was meant to do with her life. Without this story— Dany doesn’t even know who she’d be. 

The bells on the sleigh begin to jingle as it starts to move, Jon holding onto the front so he doesn’t fall. And then they’re on stage, lights blinding as Dany looks out at the audience, the rows and rows and rows of darkened faces that she  _ knows  _ are captivated by the magic of it all. 

Jon offers her a hand, and she meets his eyes, the rest of the world fading from view as she gets caught in the deep grey. 

They step onto the stage, greeting Clara and her nutcracker as they move into position, dancing in sync but not touching as the other two board the sleigh and leave the stage. And then it’s just her and Jon, the music swelling as he takes her hand, eyes locked on his as they begin their pas de deux. 

Her heart flutters in her chest with anticipation, but Dany knows this dance. Knows these steps, these movements. She lets the music fill her, guide her motions as she raises her leg into attitude, Jon taking her wrists as he leads her around in promenade. She smiles serenely, knowing how to make it look like her movements are graceful, effortless second-nature to everyone, when she’s actually focusing entirely on the way her muscles pull and flex, keeping her lines smooth and her steps flawless. 

She turns on pointe as Jon’s fingers circle her wrist, his other hand coming to her waist to stop her. She can feel the heat of his palms through her bodice as she pirouettes in his grip, his fingers skimming over her waist before he tightens his hold on her, bringing her to a stop again. 

Her head turns towards him as he releases her, both of them setting up for their travelling sequence across the stage, but as she meets his eyes—  _ gods,  _ her breath catches at the way they shine below the stage lights. Dany’s not sure if this is just how he performs, but she sees more emotion in those usually stoic irises than she has in weeks. It makes her heart flutter again, but not from nerves this time. 

The music swells as they move across the stage, Jon leaping so he’s there in front of her when she comes out of her sequence of chaîné turns. His eyes bore into hers as she stops, and there’s a little grin pulling at his lips, just like the one he’d given her downstairs when they were stretching. It’s fond, affectionate, and it makes butterflies riot in her stomach. He takes her hand again, and Dany can feel sparks race down her arm as he leads her around him, never breaking eye contact. 

She hovers in place and bourrés as Jon does another jumping pass away from her, the muscles in his legs flexing as he lands in fourth. He really is a talented dancer, she thinks, as she balances in arabesque, eyes lingering on the lithe lines of his body, the effortless way he moves across the stage. Generally Dany likes to look out at the audience, draw off their excitement while performing, even if she has a partner. But it’s like she’s under some sort of spell, unable to look away from Jon as he dances. 

His eyes are like liquid as she runs across the stage to reach him again, falling into his arms from arabesque. He picks her up for their first lift— the heat of his hands on her inner thigh and her waist as he tugs her into the air like she weighs nothing makes her belly swoop, heart pounding. Dancing is always emotional for her, but dancing with a partner has never felt like _ this.  _ She can feel his solid chest behind her, meeting his eyes as he releases her before she’s in his arms again, dipping backwards to the sweet melody. The emotion in his gaze steals her breath, and she’s caught in it again, feeling bereft as she has to look away for another promenade, another series of pirouettes. But his hands dance across her waist as she turns, helping to propel her through a series of five before they tighten and bring her to a stop. Dany can feel his warmth surrounding her, and it sends a shiver through her. 

It should be distracting, being so caught up in her partner. The cymbals crash and Jon lifts her into the air over his head like it’s as easy as breathing, fingers digging into her flesh. She should be focusing on dancing, but she finds she doesn’t even have to. Caught in his gaze, wrapped up in his touch, Dany feels electric, and the dancing becomes second thought, second nature. All she has to do is keep getting lost in Jon’s eyes, captured in his little smile as his hands take her waist and lift her through the air, his touch making her entire body feel like a livewire. 

They separate as the snow begins to fall, doing a turning pass in canon, and as Dany faces back so she can see him again, he’s grinning at her, watching her dance just as she is his. She’s captivated by the way he moves, the effortless grace he has as he leaps after her, the two of them finally coming back together. Dany melts into his touch as he lifts her again, placing her down as the music crescendos for their final turning sequence, their pas de deux drawing to a close. 

The audience claps and the music slows, but Jon has his hand splayed across the inside of her thigh once again, lifting her into the air and moving in a dreamlike motion across the stage. He takes her hand for a final promenade as Dany extends into arabesque, and she can’t look away from his heated gaze, heart pounding as her eyes track the snowflakes caught in his hair, the smile tugging at his mouth, the way his chest rises and falls as rapidly as hers does. 

The music fades into the Waltz of the Snowflakes, the first corps dancer appearing on stage, but Dany doesn’t even register the audience’s reaction, too lost in the emotion of Jon’s eyes in the fading spotlight. 

She doesn’t even know what to say as they disappear into the wings, dodging the corps dancers in position for their entrances. Her heart is racing, but she knows it’s not from exertion. 

“Dany, Jon, this way,” a stagehand hisses, gesturing for them to make their way and pass through behind the back curtain, as their next entrance in the Waltz of the Snowflakes is on the other side of the stage. 

Jon takes her hand and her heart leaps into her throat, letting him pull her into the darkness.

They hide silently in the wings, tucked out of the way of the corps dancers entering and exiting the waltz, Dany counting sixes in her head. Jon is silhouetted in front of her from the stage lights, and just the outline of his perfect body against the snow scene makes her stomach flop. 

They don’t say anything to each other— he doesn’t even seem to want to look at her. Was she imagining what just happened on stage? She’d felt a connection like she’s never had with a dance partner, and from the heat in his gaze, she had been so sure he must have felt it too. But maybe she was just getting caught up in it all. 

Their cue comes, and Dany spares one quick look at Jon before they step out on stage again. But he’s looking forward, determined not to meet her eyes. 

_ Gods above, he couldn’t be harder to figure out,  _ Dany mentally grumbles. 

The snowflakes part and scurry off into the wings as they both leap on, crossing the stage on the diagonal in a jumping sequence. She can sense Jon moving next to her in sync, but they don’t touch for this part of the dance, and she tries to focus on the movements instead of guessing what he’s  _ thinking,  _ but gods— he’s making it so hard. 

But then his hands are at her waist, catching her mid pirouette, keeping her balanced on pointe, and she can feel that warmth again, the way his fingers dig into her flesh like he never wants to let her go. She catches his eye as he takes her hand, twirling her through the rest of the turn sequence, and that heat is back, that unbridled, raw emotion that he always tries so hard to keep down. 

Dany can sense all the corps dancers reentering the stage as the music slows, grows lighter, but all she can see is Jon, the grey of his eyes as he takes her waist and lifts her through the air. 

They exit again as the music speeds back up, the snow steadily falling faster. And once again, the moment they’re offstage, Jon averts his gaze, pretending like she’s not even there. 

Dany tries not to let it rile her. She still has a performance to finish— their last turn sequence as the snow rains down across the hellishly slippery stage is yet to come— and she can’t let herself get distracted by Jon’s brooding. It just… it’s so  _ irritating.  _ Is he just that good of a performer, to look at her like that when they’re on stage, and then immediately turn it off when they’re hidden back in the wings again? 

Dany tries to push it from her mind, listening to the music speed up instead, watching the snow fall from the top of the stage. 

She and Jon move to the back wing, ready to take their places for the end of the dance. She can see how thick the snow is covering the stage, rolling through her feet in preparation for their last turning pass.  _ Almost there,  _ she tells herself. The snowflakes all move to the front of the stage, she and Jon slipping out into the back where the cloak of darkness obscures them, waiting for that sharp note in the music and the spotlight to switch to them. 

Her heart pounds in her chest as they are illuminated brilliantly, the snow raining down as the music reaches its fastest tempo.  _ Focus,  _ she tells herself, not even trying to meet Jon’s eyes as they piqué and leap across the stage. She doesn’t slip, both of them hitting their marks in perfect sync. The snowflakes at the front unfreeze, beginning to dance again as they turn to the middle— Dany hovers in sous-sus again as Jon leaps across the sage, but then he’s turning towards her and they meet in the center and his arms circle her waist as he turns her, eyes never breaking away from hers, and  _ gods,  _ she wasn’t imagining it. That heat is there, her heart fluttering and stomach flipping, and she can’t even see the corps dancers as he twirls her around, lost in his gaze. 

The snow is falling so thickly that the air itself seems to glitter, the two of them dancing together again as the music begins to come to a close. She can feel Jon’s palms on her waist, like he’s left imprints of himself on her very skin, turning her around slowly. The music hits one last crescendo as she leaps up, Jon’s arms lifting her until she’s perched on his shoulder, her thigh pressed to his ear. 

She always feels bad that her partner has a face full of tutu when they do lifts like this, but right now, she’s just trying not to focus on the way her heart is pounding from Jon’s head being underneath her skirt. 

The music slows, Jon holding her tight as he walks her back and forth, and then he’s lowering her, his fingers dragging across her sides, up her ribcage. She meets his eyes again as they separate, and his are molten, overflowing with heat and emotion. Dany can hardly catch her breath, hardly realizes the sleigh is returning onstage with Clara and the Nutcracker. 

Dancing mostly over, they board the sleigh again as Clara and her prince climb into their magic cloud that will take them to the land of sweets, the snow falling so fast Dany can hardly see the scene in front of them. The audience claps as the curtains begin to close, music coming to a crescendo before the orchestra falls silent, the act over. 

Curtains closed, the stage lights return to normal, and Dany stands, heart still pounding, though she knows it’s only half from the dancing. She looks over at Jon, finds his eyes again, and she can still see it there— that simmering heat, the undeniable connection they’d just felt on stage. 

She opens her mouth to say something— what, she’s not exactly sure— but before she can, Jon is hopping out of the sleigh, hurrying off the stage. 

Her mouth hangs open for a moment as she tries to process what the hells just happened. “Jon!” she calls, but he’s gone, disappearing backstage again into the crowd of little kids before she can even get out of the sleigh. 

“Gods dammit,” she curses, trying to rush after him and almost wiping out on the fake snow. The stagehands are already rushing out with brooms and shop vacs to get it all cleaned up before the next act begins. “Excuse me,” she says, gently pushing through the crowd of kids and then the snowflakes, the group of corps dancers taking a moment to breathe before they’ll have to go get changed for the Waltz of the Flowers. Her efforts are futile, though— Jon, clearly, is long gone. 

“Hey,” Missandei says, appearing next to her with her sweatshirt still draped over her arm. “You alright?” 

“I… yeah,” Dany says, shaking her head. Her mind feels fuzzy, like it’s still trying to catch up. “Did you see where Jon went?” 

“No?” Missandei says, clearly confused. “Wasn’t he with you?” 

“Mhm, until he practically bolted off the stage,” she says, grabbing her water bottle and taking a swig. “I thought—”

She trails off, not sure how to continue. She can still feel the ghost of his touch onstage, the way his eyes had blazed as they met hers beneath the lights. She can still picture the soft little smile he’d given her earlier when they were stretching. 

And then he’d recoiled from her like she had burned him, run away like he was fleeing a disaster. 

_ “Men,”  _ Dany grumbles, and Missandei laughs, but she nods in agreement. 

***

Dany knows it’s not wise to drink so much when they have two shows tomorrow, but gods  _ dammit,  _ she’s still angry and confused about earlier. 

What the fuck is Jon Snow’s problem? Just as she started to think maybe there  _ was  _ a shot they could get along, he’d turned tail and run. What could she have possibly done to make him so standoffish with her? 

So now she’s drowning her troubles in the cheap champagne she and Missandei had bought, glancing furtively at the door every time someone else knocks to see if it’s him. Dany’s not sure if he’ll actually show or not— according to Loras, he’d told him he was coming, but after their pas de deux today, and considering this is  _ her  _ apartment, she sort of doubts it. If he does, though— she is going to give him a piece of her mind, the rest of  _ Nutcracker  _ be damned. 

“Dany,” she hears, Missandei appearing at her side and snapping her back to reality. Her best friend is trying not to laugh, eyes sparkling as she regards her. “You alright?” 

“Mhm,” Dany hums, eyes scanning their company members mingling around the apartment. “Totally fine. Why do you ask?” 

“Er, you seem a bit on edge,” Missandei says. “And you won’t stop looking at the door.” 

“And?” Dany says. Missandei arches an eyebrow at her. 

“It’s a small apartment, love. I think if Jon shows up, you’ll see him.” 

She sighs, found out. “Look, I just want to talk to him!” she says. Not a total lie. She wants to talk with him, sort of. And grill him until she finds out what his fucking problem is. 

“Dany, I still think that pressing him on this and pushing him from standoffish to  _ hostile  _ is probably a bad move,” she says. “It’s your season you’re going to be ruining.” 

“Please, Dei,” Dany says with a roll of her eyes. “The time for logic was two glasses of champagne ago.” 

Missandei laughs. “Alright, well, at least say hello to your other friends while he’s still not here?” 

Dany relents, letting her best friend drag her over to be social with the rest of the dancers. She actually does get caught up in the conversation, forgetting about her deadset determination earlier and losing track of time. She glances at the clock over their sofa and is surprised to see almost an hour has passed. 

Tuning out of the discussion at hand, she glances around the room again, just to make sure. And then, she sees him— that familiar mop of raven curls like a beacon across the room, caught up in conversation with Renly and Alys. 

Her eyes meet his, her heart thumping in her chest, and even in the middle of the crowded apartment, she can feel that spark of connection she’d felt earlier on stage as Jon stares at her. 

Before she can do anything, he turns, once again fleeing from her. The fluttering in her heart turns into fire, aggravation flooding her system again. But this time— this time, he is not going to get away. 

She briefly excuses herself before cutting across the living room, following Jon to where he’d disappeared down the hall. 

She doesn’t immediately see him, but it’s a small apartment, so he’s not going to escape her so easily this time. Sure enough, as she rounds the corner in the hall, there he is. He meets her eyes, his pretty mouth pulled into a frown, and gods damn him he  _ irks  _ her so much. 

“Er, sorry, I was lookin’ for the bathroom—” he says, but he’s a bloody terrible liar, so Dany marches right up to him, crossing her arms. 

“No, you’re not,” she says. “You’re running away from me.  _ Again.”  _

His cheeks tinge the slightest bit red, but he doesn’t shy away from her. “Listen,” he says, his eyes blazing as they meet hers. “I—” 

“No,  _ you  _ listen,” Dany snaps, jabbing a finger at him. Jon’s eyes widen a bit— shit, maybe she did have too much champagne. 

“I want to know what the fuck your problem with me is,” she demands. “You barely talk to me, you run away from me as soon as we finish dancing— what did I ever do to you?!” she demands. 

Jon blinks at her, brow furrowing. “Wait, what?” he says. “I don’t—” 

“Yes, you do!” she snaps. “I’m the only person in this company you seem unwilling to ever speak to. The moment we stop dancing together you seem to want less than nothing to do with me. So what did I do, hmm?” She pokes him in the chest again, finger hitting hard muscle. “Why do you hate me so much?” 

“Dany, I don’t hate you,” he says, and there’s an odd expression on his face, his dark eyes almost overwhelmed. “You never did anythin’, I swear it.” 

Her brow furrows, arms crossing. “You’re a shit liar, you know.” 

“I’m not lying!” he snaps, exhaling hotly. 

“Then why are you avoiding me?” she demands, and she can see something in his eyes snap. 

“Because I’m fuckin’ mad about you, alright?” he says, words coming out in an angry burst that makes her breath catch. His eyes widen marginally, like he hadn’t exactly expected to say that, but he holds his ground. 

“What?” Dany says, her voice quiet, any trace of anger gone. Jon exhales, and she can see that look in his eyes again that she’d seen on stage, but this time she recognizes the emotion behind the dark grey. Longing. Reverence.  _ Desire.  _

“I’ve been gone, Dany,” he says, voice ragged, “since that first rehearsal they put us together and made us dance this damn pas de deux. I saw you move and I was lost.” He shakes his head, but his eyes don’t leave hers. “And I didn’t want to say anythin’ to make you uncomfortable, because… you’re so talented, and you make me better, and I want to keep dancing with you.” 

His shoulders sag, Dany’s heart thrashing in her chest. Her body feels like a livewire, shivers running up and down her spine as Jon looks at her like she’s the most incredible fucking thing he’s ever seen in his life. 

“And now I’ve gone and fucked it up anyways,” Jon says, huffing humorlessly. “I— can we just forget about this? I’m sorry if I—”

“Jon,” she says, breathless, and he pauses, his eyes dark as they meet hers. The heat she felt earlier when they were onstage, the way his touch lit her up, made her heart race— it’s magnified tenfold. All of her anger and confusion from earlier is gone, replaced instead with deadset certainty. 

“Just shut up,” she says, and before he can say anything else she steps forward, closing the space between them as she locks her hands around his neck, kissing him hard. 

He stands there frozen for just a second, her heart still ricocheting off her ribcage, but then he’s kissing her back, and gods above it’s  _ glorious.  _ His arms band around her waist, the heat of his palms through her dress like when he’d held her on stage. She whimpers as he opens her mouth wider with his own, tongue darting out to taste her, desperate and hungry. 

_ “Gods,” _ he exhales against her lips, voice ragged. Her eyes blink open momentarily, the desire in his own fanning the flames in her belly, making her blood run even hotter. Dany presses herself into his chest, molding her body to his as Jon closes the space between them again, kissing her hungrily. 

His hands slide down the curve of her spine to rest on her arse as his tongue slicks against hers, making her moan again. Before she knows what’s happening Jon’s lifting her into the air, her legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. He holds her to him like she weighs nothing at all, her fingers gripping his biceps, and the way the muscles flex under her fingers almost makes her swoon. 

His teeth catch on her bottom lip, and Dany tugs on his silky curls in retaliation, lost to the feel of him. “Jon,” she pants, their noses still pressed together. He hums in acknowledgement before kissing her again, breaking away only so he can meet her gaze with his. 

“My bedroom’s the next door down,” she whispers, and his eyes are so heated as they meet hers that she wonders how she  _ ever  _ thought he hated her. 

Jon walks them down the hall, her still in his arms; they’re barely through the door before he kicks it closed, pressing her up against it. His lips drift from her mouth to her neck, trailing hot, hungry kisses down the column of her throat. An inhuman noise comes from the back of her throat as one of his hands comes up to fondle her tit, her heart thrashing in her chest, hips grinding against his. 

“Dany,” he hums into her skin. His fingers are tugging at the edge of her dress, which has ridden up practically past her hips at this point. “Can I take this off?” 

“Gods, please,” she murmurs, momentarily unwrapping her arms from around him to help pull the stretchy material over her head. He drops it on the floor behind her, taking a moment to let his eyes scan up and down her body, her heart racing. 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he says, and just the way the words sound, the way he looks at her— she can tell he means it, truly. The reverence and desire in his gaze is almost too much for her, blood running hot, panties growing even wetter. 

_ Gods,  _ she needs him. Needs to feel him inside her, run her hands over all that smooth muscle she’s been gawking at for weeks now, let him devour her. 

Broken from his stupor, Jon leans in to kiss her again, lips bruising as he claims her mouth hungrily. His arms keep her close as he steps away from the door, walking blindly across the room before laying her down on her bed. She watches as he strips his own shirt off, his muscles flexing and sending another rush of heat between her legs. 

Fuck, she’d thought his clothes in rehearsals left little to the imagination, but somehow his body is even  _ more  _ gorgeous than she’d pictured in her mind. 

He’s on top of her again in an instant, his skin hot against hers as he kisses her again. Dany reaches behind her to unclasp her bra, Jon’s fingers already tugging the cups down. But he pauses, and Dany’s breath hitches, brow furrowing as he pulls away from her,  _ laughing.  _

“Dany,” he says, and  _ gods,  _ he has such a gorgeous smile. “Your bra is still full of fake snow.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she groans, head falling backwards against the pillows. She’d taken a shower and everything when she’d gotten home, before people had come over. That stuff truly is a thing of nightmares. 

“I swear to the gods, I thought I got all of it off—  _ oh,”  _ she moans, because Jon, seemingly unfazed by the confetti in her bra, has lowered his mouth to her breast, making her brain short circuit. His tongue runs over her nipple as he brings his other hand up to caress the other one, his fingers plucking at the stiff peak. 

She holds his head close to her, fingers tangled in his curls, urging him on. It’s like what she felt on stage dialed up a hundred times stronger, every inch of her body alight. Her hands run over Jon’s corded muscles, caressing his skin, until she finally finds his pants, making quick work of the zipper and shoving them down over that glorious arse. 

He pulls away from her, gasping, as her hands squeeze his buttocks, the muscle just as firm and perfect under her palms as it looked during rehearsal. “I almost fell out of my pirouette during adagio this morning because I was distracted by _ this,” _ Dany tells him, and he looks up at her, pupils fat and dark. 

“Mm,” he says, sliding up to kiss her again. “Why d’you think I never stand anywhere near you in company class?” His hips grind against hers, and she can feel how much he wants her too, his cock straining against his boxers. 

“Jon,” she gasps, arching into his touch.  _ “Fuck,  _ I need you.” She raises her hips to help him take off her panties, muscles in her stomach jumping as his fingers slip through her folds, sticky with her arousal. His thumb brushes over her clit, and she makes a keening sound somewhere in her throat, eyes squeezing shut as her nails rake up his back. His mouth has returned to her neck, sucking a mark into the base of it, and she’s going to have to find her heavy-duty concealer to cover it up before tomorrow’s matinee, but she doesn’t even care, it feels so bloody good. 

“Gods, you’re so wet,” he murmurs in her ear, two fingers slipping inside of her. She moans again, her channel clenching around him as he fucks her with his fingers. But it’s not enough, and she thinks she might go mad if he teases her like this any longer. 

Dany’s hands stroke down his back again, thumbs hooking in the waistband of his boxers and tugging them down over his arse. He shudders, pulling away to help her rid him of the article of clothing entirely, before her hand is closing around his cock, stroking up and down the flushed shaft. 

“Oh,  _ fuck,”  _ he says, voice guttural. She drags the head through her folds,  _ so  _ close to where she wants him, loving the wild look in his eyes as they meet hers. “Dany, d’you— condoms?” 

“In the drawer,” she says, and he reaches over blindly, retrieving one and rolling it on. His cock nudges her opening, and Jon swallows her moan with a kiss as he pushes into her, her nails biting into his shoulders as he begins to move. 

_ “Yes,”  _ she pants as he stretches her open, her legs wrapping around him and heels digging into his arse, urging him on. The drag of his skin against hers as he thrusts into her, the feeling of his hand roaming over her curves— he’s driving her fucking insane, pleasure making her mind go fuzzy. The way he moves inside her, around her, holding her close… it’s like a dance they’re caught up in, their bodies so in sync they’ve become extensions of each other. 

“Dany,” he moans in her ear, and she cries out as his hand comes to where they’re joined, rubbing over her clit as he fucks her. He kisses her again, silencing her. “Shh,” he urges her, though he sounds like he’s barely restraining himself as well. “Half the bloody company’s in the other room.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” she tells him, gasping as he touches her again. “Oh, gods, I’m going to—” 

Stars burst before her eyes as she comes, her channel fluttering around Jon’s cock. He groans, pumping into her still, before he falls over the edge as well, spilling into the condom. His head drops to her chest, her fingers still raking through his curls as they both try to catch their breath. 

She’s not sure how much time passes, still caught in a haze, but eventually Jon pulls out of her and trashes the condom, before rolling to face her, tugging her into his arms. 

The little smile he’s giving her makes her grin like an idiot— she’s hardly ever seen him be anything but stony and cold, but she likes this look on him much better. Dany drops a kiss on his lips, just a quick one, and he chuckles, fingers carding through her hair. 

“You convinced I don’t hate you now?” he asks, eyes alight, and she laughs. 

“I suppose,” she says, smirking at him. “You might have to prove it a few more times, though.” 

Jon chuckles, pulling her into him and kissing her warmly, and her heart flutters in anticipation all over again. 

Maybe friendship with her dance partner is out of the question, but  _ this—  _ well, this is much better, Dany thinks. 

**Author's Note:**

> In case you are curious at all as to the dancing aspect of this-- you can check out the Snow pas de deux and the Waltz of the Snowflakes [here!](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1TOYmw58hPK43r4kuLkZfn7IhowK2q4hF/view?usp=sharing) (Please ignore the dumb narration; Boston Ballet aired an abridged version of their Nutcracker on TV this year since they couldn't do live shows, and they had it narrated for some ungodly reason. I am still very upset about it but WHATEVER.)


End file.
